


A Hundred Days of Absolution

by RedStarRocket91



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: 'Romance', F/M, Light BDSM, Manipulation, Moral Ambiguity, POV Female Character, Pregnancy, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 22:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19777837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarRocket91/pseuds/RedStarRocket91
Summary: Captured and enslaved by a dark eldar archon, a lowly battle sister makes a deal which will test her faith to its limit.





	1. Day 10

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [This Particular Pointy Eared Arsehole](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/497872) by JetBlackRaider. 



“What the fuck are you smiling at now, you prick?”

The human woman who asks already knows the answer, of course. She’s furious because I’ve upheld my half of the bargain for the last ten days.

Ten days of compassion and kindness in public. Ten days of honesty and generosity in private. Ten days of accepting scoldings in the guttural language of this coarse-throated primitive, apologising for every imaginable affront to her absurd, dead Emperor.

Humiliating.

Degrading.

Shameful.

_Exquisite_.

I’m surprised how much I’m enjoying it. I haven’t felt this alive in decades - not since dear old Archon Klave and the Sable Helm of Counted Woes. What fresh depravities are there, really, after fifteen thousand years of pure power? Where’s the excitement when you know the game so well you’re free from any consequence? How can you enjoy a feast of suffering when it’s so devoid of the spice of danger?

The humans say that these sad excuses for ‘angels’ are incorruptible. This one certainly seemed feisty enough when she arrived, screaming that she carried the light of her faith with her no matter what darkness she was dragged into. Perhaps that’s why I brought her into my kabal instead of chaining her to the raider with her sisters, to put that belief to the test. Or, perhaps, it’s just because she shot off half of Dracon Nithir’s face during the raid. I must remember to congratulate him on the improvement.

Such a simple deal we made. I’d leave her free to preach the name of her Emperor, even offer to listen. And in return, for each day of good and dutiful behaviour, all I asked was that she’d recognise my redemption with another of those little purity seals her race is so fond of.

Well. That, and a _little_ more, every now and again.

That’s why she’s making such a brave show of temper now, skin flushed with the delightful heat of anger. She expected me to betray the deal. To have her killed, or maimed, or mocked, perhaps left alone and starving to preach to none but the deaf and the blind. She agreed believing she wouldn’t have to keep her own word, that she was merely buying a few days to harden her faith and ready her body before I showed my true hand.

Honesty is the most _delightful_ deceit.

“My dear,” I smile as I drink her hatred. “Have I not been a most faithful, pious soul today?”

She scowls, the white edges of perfect teeth grinding behind dark red lips. “You have.” The answer is almost spat.

“Then will you grant me my reward?”

If looks could wound, her gaze would fell Khaine. “Yes.” Less a word, more a hiss, but her meaning is clear. I bow my head, forcing my features into a sombre mask lest I burst out laughing from her intoxicating misery. Within a moment, one of my attendants is at her side, holding a case of the necessary materials and a small slate to rest on.

She doesn’t even look at me as she turns and scribbles, each letter a sharp scrawl of beautiful emotion. For the briefest moment, I imagine a strange feeling crossing me, one of genuine anticipation of what the wax seal represents - a concept dismissed in an instant by its own absurdity. An amusing twinge, nothing more.

The snap of the case brings me back to focus as the human turns, seal in hand. She growls a single order, “kneel”, and I do so. I keep my head down, amused at her stubborn adherence to the ritual, feeling a surprisingly gentle tug at the back of my scalp as she grips a lock of hair. “May you ever be true of faith as you walk in the Emperor’s light, on this tenth day of penitence.”

I rise as she steps back, smiling once more. “My deepest thanks.”

_Scowling_.

“Yet as I recall, you promised another reward for ten days of due devotion.”

Her body tenses, the animal stink of stress hormones filling the room. She’s going to falter, and a moment later, she does. “Isn’t salvation enough?”

“Then why so hesitant for such a little thing to keep me on the path?”

I can taste her conflict, nectar to a dry soul. I close my eyes, surprised at own excitement. A moment later I suppress a flicker of pleasure as a single warm hand cups my jaw, followed by the briefest, lightest brush of lips against my other cheek.

By the time my eyelids flick open, she’s already storming away, her angry gait failing to spoil the swaying of her exposed rear cheeks. I rise, and call out. “Sleep well, angel.”

“Fuck off!”

I laugh, settle down onto my throne, thrusting out a single hand toward a waiting servant. “Wine, please.” The second word is unthinking, unintentional, and I wave him away quickly after taking the goblet. Despite my sudden weakness, I can’t help but smile, sipping the dark liquid and murmuring as I recall the feeling of her kiss.

“How far will your faith go, human?”


	2. Day 25

Emotion crashes back and forth within her, unfocused and conflicted, a riptide in the ocean of her mind. The harder she tries to assert herself over it, the more it drags her down. She doesn’t know whether to be pleased or not, so for now she’s settled for anger.

Simply delectable.

“You know what today is, don’t you?” My voice is a purr as I decide whether or not to tease the human. It’s an easy choice. “You must be proud.”

That scowl! That raw, naked hatred as anger becomes fury. How fond of it I’ve grown over the past twenty-five days.

Twenty-five long, agonising days of empathy and charity. Her ancestors had barely crawled off that sewer nest she calls a homeworld the last time I went more than a week without a good double-cross or three, and here I’ve managed twenty-five days. Elaborate schemes of domination are mere routine, the freshest, most ironic betrayals simply mundane. Where once my victories were sweet nourishment to a withering soul, now even the grandest cruelties are little more than the gruel of subsistence.

This one is different, and the suffering brought on her by our agreement is invigorating. She knows now that there’s no trick, no catch. That I intend to honour my word. What she doesn’t know is whether or not she wants me to.

It would be easier for her if I were to simply break it. For one raised on the glory of martyrs and the joy of suffering, enforced death and degradation hold no fear. No, what torments her is the knowledge that she’s complicit - that we’ve reached today by her own choice. That, whether or not she’d admit it, she  _ wants _ this.

To force someone onto the path toward self-destruction is a simple thing, a pleasure cheapened to nothing by the knowledge that any creature capable of holding a weapon could do the same. But to convince them to walk it willingly? To be an active conspirator in their own shame? A rare and worthy satisfaction. Yes, to hold this particular vow sacred, where I’ve broken countless others without thought, is the most delightful cruelty of all.

_ You must be proud _ .

Her rage, impotent in the face of the truth, is  _ delicious _ .

I continue to smile at her, arms outstretched and palms upturned in a human gesture of friendship, in the time it takes her to respond. “Don’t look smug,” she eventually growls, her voice steadier than her emotions. “Yes, you spikey tosser, I know what fucking day it is.”

“And have I not upheld my commitments?” I hold the pose, still smiling at her. “Have I not allowed you to preach the word of the Emperor, to comfort His faithful?”

She folds her arms across the top of her chest, shaking her head as she glances around the room. “Just bring out the wax and paper and let’s get this over with.”

A nod to the figure in the darkness and a half minute of angry scribbling are all it takes before she stamps back over, purity seal in hand. Today, it seems, it’s going on my pauldron: I dip my head as usual while she speaks. “The Emperor watches over all, and blessed is he who accepts His protection on this twenty-fifth day of reparation.”

“May He watch over both of us.” I murmur the words quietly, but it’s loud enough for her to hear and hesitate instead of stepping back. She squints, first with suspicion, then confusion as she searches for mockery.

I’m quite sincere, of course. If her Emperor weren’t dead, I’d love to see the look on his face as he watches us now. I reach out, hook a finger beneath her jaw. She doesn’t resist as I draw her closer, staring into her eyes. For such a lumpen and stocky little race of primitives, those two silver-blue orbs are quite... enthralling.

It’s only as she finally blinks, looks away, that I realise how long I’d been holding her gaze. I just wanted her to break first, that’s all. To give her a reminder of who’s in charge of this little partnership. I spread my fingers out across her cheek, my grip firm as I turn her face back toward me. It’s not enough to just take my reward, or to force it from her. It has to be  _ willing _ .

“What would the Emperor say, if He saw you hesitate now?” My voice is low enough, my lips so still, that even the kabalites around the room would struggle to hear. “To know you run from His word, for the sake of a kiss?”

Her eyes flicker from left to right, unable to meet both of mine at once. The stink of her hormones, animalistic, almost feral, clogs my nostrils. Confusion. Fear.  _ Excitement _ ? Her words are hushed as she responds, trying to justify what she’s about to do. “You don’t give a fuck about the Emperor’s word. You just want to use me.”

I drop my other hand to her waist, noting the lack of resistance. “Perhaps. But if all you wanted was to keep preaching, you’d have kissed me by now and gotten it over with.” A gentle squeeze of my lower hand is rewarded with an aroused shiver, a fresh wave of conflicted emotion.

It’s enough. The human hesitates a moment more, before she practically lunges at me, closing her eyes and slamming her face into mine. I have to tilt my head after the first moment of contact, just to avoid my nose being crushed.

She’s clumsy and clueless, mashing her mouth onto mine without any sense of rhythm or sensation. It takes a few moments of trying to match her wriggling before I can settle her into a steady pace, her lips slowly matching mine as they purse and relax in a soft, increasingly wet caress. I can feel her growing warmth radiating onto my face and chest as she continues to press forward, each opening of her mouth feeling as though she’s trying to pour the heat of her own body into mine.

I open a little wider, intending to suck her lip, when I feel her tongue slip out. It’s only the briefest of moments, a single flick across the back of my own lips, but it’s enough. I pull back for a moment, opening my eyes as her own do so too, and stare. This close, even if I wasn’t actively drinking her emotions, I’d be able to taste her disgust - not just for me, but for her own enjoyment of our sin.

I can tell exactly when her rising revulsion reaches the strength of her desire to continue. It’s only then that I press back into her, tightening my grip around her hips as I whip my tongue into her mouth, lashing it between her cheeks and against her own.

I chose the moment well. The human’s feelings intensify at once into a delicious, bittersweet cocktail which I sip from the tip of her tongue as she decides that she wants to pull back, but realises that she can’t compose herself do so. Her throat trembles, a moan of wanton horror. Her tongue swirls around mine, desperate to touch even as it forces me out. She leaves her purity in my mouth as she finally breaks away, gasping.

I’m a little surprised by how much I enjoyed that. Not just the power and the torment, but the kiss itself.

I lick my lips, savouring the last taste of hers, and return to smiling. “What a fine servant you are to the Emperor. Thank you, my angel.”

She snarls as she begins to reply. “You…”

The word trails off almost immediately, her chest still heaving as she pants for air. Silence hangs in the air a few moments more, punctuated only by the labour of her lungs. She straightens, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, and spits at my feet.

“Fuck you.”

I laugh, drinking deeply of her suffering as she turns and storms without another word from the chamber. It’s only when she’s gone that I realise, drinking my soul’s fill hasn’t diminished my thirst for her.

My expression doesn’t change as I settle back onto my throne, fingers snapping, arm thrust out to receive wine. I thank the bearer unconsciously as I sip, and slip into brooding.


	3. Day 50

The other slaves say he hasn’t bedded anyone in over a month.

I can’t get the thought out of my head as I stare at the aeldar in front of me, one leg folded casually over the other as he lounges atop a spiked throne. His expression is his default, that of a smug prick, as he stares at me intensely through two orbs of glimmering jet. His tongue flicks out as he raises an ornate glass of dark liquid, twisting slowly around its edges. I can’t help but remember how it felt in my own mouth - a muscular worm with a life of its own, writhing and thrashing in a perverse imitation of love - and try to suppress a shiver.

He smiles, handing the empty goblet to an attendant, who steps away and is lost almost immediately to the shadows. I could taste the wine for hours after he kissed me. Too rich, too syrupy, too metallic. The memory alone makes me nauseous. Yet knowing what I have to do here today, I can’t help but hope for a taste before I leave.

That  _ fucking _ smile is what bolters were made for.

It may as well be carved onto his ivory face, how little it moves. It’s a handsome face, the features sharp, strong, elegant, even attractive if he were human. There are far uglier chiselled onto the statues of saints across the worlds of the Imperium. I’m forcing myself to focus on that, instead of the shadowy shape between his thighs which briefly looms and then vanishes beneath the silken loincloth again as he swaps his legs over.

_ He hasn’t bedded anyone in over a month _ .

If it’s anything like a human’s, even I know enough to guess why.

He calmly leans forward, resting his head on one fist, beckoning me with the other. “My angel,” his voice is deep, soft, easily spreading out to fill the chamber despite its relative quiet. “How quickly today has come.”

I step toward the dais. I’m nervous, ashamed, angry, doing my best to only let the latter show. My eyes drop just for a moment, unwanted, to the growing bulge between his legs. A warm tingle caresses its way along my spine, blossoming in my cheeks and navel.

_ Just nerves _ .

“Your faith is a blessing to me and all of Commorragh.” He settles back onto the throne. “I’m sure the Emperor is watching you today with pride.”

The words sting, but I raise my head high, defiant, anyway. For fifty days I’ve been free to comfort the slaves trapped in this nightmare, to speak my mind, even to interfere with his cruelties and schemes. So what if it carries a price? So what if it’s undone once he grows bored and has me disposed of? I’ve done what I can to kindle the Emperor’s light in the dark city, however briefly. I won’t let spite consume me just because he thinks it’s a good deal.

I force myself to meet his gaze, comforted by my duty. “Go ahead and mock, you bastard. Your actions serve the Emperor, I don’t give a fuck if you’re just doing it for my approval.”

He blinks, and I realise that in all our time together it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him do so. The rest of his features are as still and unmoving as always, his eyes unreadable. Was that just a coincidence? A trick of the light? Or did it actually get under his perfect skin?

Something to remember.

Perhaps, something to use.

A few moments of silence pass between us, before he snaps his fingers toward the shadows behind me. “Bring her materials. It’s time to claim my reward.”

Another purity seal. I’ve made more since arriving here than in the previous three years combined. I take my time, fingers moving slowly across the parchment, the inkwork formal and precise. Partly it’s because I want to delay what comes next, but partly it’s to prevent my hands from shaking. Maybe he’ll mistake the extra care for enthusiasm.

There’s only so long that I can stall. All too soon I have to walk back to him, today’s seal in hand. He hasn’t moved, still wearing that hateful smile, though he calmly uncrosses his legs at my approach. For now, at least, the silk continues to conceal his worst. I’m grateful for each moment it’s delayed.

I stand my full arm’s length from him as I reach out to his chestplate and firmly press the still-warm wax against it. Our eyes meet as I speak, and I wish I could read his better. “May you be pure in thought and endeavour in your service to the Emperor, on this fiftieth day of atonement and all those to follow.”

I don’t even see him move. He simply changes positions, too fast to follow, as I find my wrist gripped in his hand, unable to pull back. He pulls me closer, his other arm drifting to the fabric at his waist. “Your faith is water to a fevered soul, human.” He lowers my hand to the inside of his thigh, pressing it down. “Will you drink my sin in return?”

These bastards have such  _ cold _ bodies. Cool, clean and smooth, more akin to unblemished marble than living skin. I look away, staring around the room for something, some wondrous, merciful intervention from the Emperor to save me. There’s no answer. Nobody except the jade-clad figures watching us from the smoke and darkness around the edges of the room to come to my aid.

“No.” The word is a whisper, my heart racing as I deny him.

“No?”

“Not… not like this. Not in front of them.”

The Aeldar raises a single, thin eyebrow. “You would have me dismiss my Incubi? I will do no such thing, and you will honour our agreement.”

“No, I won’t!” Shame fuels growing anger as I wrench my hand away, balling it into a fist at my side and wondering if I can break that flawless nose in the time before I’m brought down by the guns already being trained on me from every curve of the room. “This is the fulfilment of a sacred oath to the Emperor, not a gutter show for these fucking voyeurs, and if you don’t respect that then you should take that seal off and shoot me now!”

He’s going to kill me. There’s no way he can’t. I’m a plaything, an amusement, and he can’t let his toys challenge him so openly. My chest heaves with each breath as I hold his gaze, determined not to flinch. This is how a human dies, you alien bastard. On her feet. Unafraid. For her Emperor.

Seconds tick by. The room falls away, the world fading to darkness until there’s nothing left but me and those piercing, obsidian eyes.

They blink.

“Out.”

The word is singular, soft. The footsteps which follow immediately are equally quiet, more akin to the brush of fabric than the tramp of armoured boots. I can hardly believe it. It’s a trick, surely. I brace myself for the order to turn and fire.

It’s an order which never comes. Instead, there’s the low crunch of stone on stone as the door seals, leaving us alone in the chamber.

“Why?” I have to ask.

“Forgive me, angel.” A wicked smirk plays around the corner of his mouth. “I had thought our contract was merely business for you. I hadn’t realised you desired this to be such an... intimate moment.”

I’m horrified. It’s true, I wanted to be alone, but… for privacy. Not intimacy.

I swallow my retort. Let him say it, if it means there’s no audience.

He offers a hand, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle as he takes my wrist. I’m guided onto my knees in front of him, before he releases me. As I stare at the crimson fabric now so close to my face, I can’t help feel a perverse curiosity at what exactly is underneath, and try to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks.

He reaches for the strap of my dress.

Unthinking, I raise my arm to ward him off. His outstretched fingers freeze in place, and I hesitate, realising that there’s no excuse now that we’re alone. I can tell he won’t accept another refusal. Emperor, forgive me, but there’s only one option.

I take a deep breath, hold his gaze, and pull the straps aside myself.

_ My terms _ . _ Not yours _ .

There’s a certain, queer thrill in the act of denying him, in exposing my breasts. I don’t look down, knowing already what I’ll see. It’s just the cool of the air in here, I tell myself. For a moment, I think he’s going to touch, and this time I don’t try to stop him. Yet the moment passes, and he withdraws. Perhaps it’s because it would have delayed the coming shame for a few more seconds, or perhaps I’m just caught in the rush of doing something so brazen. Whatever the reason, the truth is that I don’t know whether I’m glad or not.

His gaze returns to my face as he settles his forearms on each side of the throne. “Quite the show, human.” I wait for him to continue, but he falls silent, still. I know how this works. He needs me to make the next move, for it to be my own choice.

I raise one hand and, slowly, lift away the loincloth.

_ Oh, Emperor _ .

It’s so much bigger than it should be. I’ve seen them on humans before, the penniless and dead, if never in the act of love. His frame is too lithe, too narrow for this… thing. It’s as long as my forearm, almost as thick, and still swelling. The shaft is a perfectly shaped rod of thick muscle, unblemished ivory skin lending it more the appearance of sculpted alabaster than living flesh. At the base, a pair of similarly flawless orbs bulge, hued ever so slightly blue as though dusted with topaz.

But it’s the head that makes my breath catch in my throat. A bulb of dark, marble-veined flesh, primal and brutal in its masculinity as it slides from its sheath. An uncompromising, battering tool, rather than the sharp, twisted elegance I’ve come to expect from these creatures. Highborn women the breadth of the Imperium might pay a hundred thousand throne gelt for a carving half this perfect, and call it over-idealised fantasy.

Even now, staring so closely as it twitches and stiffens to exposure in the chill of the air, I can scarcely accept it’s real. I’m trapped in a breathless, anxious reverie, needing to touch to believe. The red-silken veil slips from my fingers as my hand moves, trance-like, to settle atop its length, fingers curving into a reverential grasp.

Well, it’s skin, alright, even if the temperature is cooler than my own. I trace my fingers up and down it a few times, mesmerised, increasing the pressure with each stroke and feeling it continue to harden beneath my grip. My heart beats faster, my strokes speeding along with it. The head flexes one final time and finally begins to support its own weight, rising until it’s pointing directly at my face.

I swallow a lump in my throat as I raise my eyes. He’s still looking at me, though the smirk is gone. I continue to stare dumbly into his eyes, unable to do anything but keep stroking. It’s oddly calming.

His hand moves toward me once more, and I expect him to cup my jaw. Instead, the tips of his fingers trace the lower half of my face, a single one settling lazily onto my lower lip. It’s a much gentler action than I was expecting, and my lips purse and cling to it as he pulls the hand away.

As the trance wears off, the weight of what I’m about to do settles over me. A hard knot forms in the pit of my stomach. This xenos is about to violate me. And I’m going to allow it to happen willingly.

It has to be worth it. Does keeping some abstract sense of bodily purity really mean more than keeping the faith alive in this nightmarish city? Vanity is a sin in the eyes of the Emperor. I don’t have the  _ right _ to be prudish when human souls are at stake.

My grip tightens, my lips moisten as I make my excuses. I’d take a bullet in His service, wouldn’t I? A blade? Be scarred, blinded, maimed? Yes, without hesitation. It’s no different to that. I can do this.

I break eye contact, my gaze dipping back to his perfectly formed shaft. I should be grateful, really. It could easily have been some vile thing, unnatural, misshapen and vicious, crusted with scales or scabs or sores. There must be women who can only dream about buying something like this, and I’m getting it for free.

I lick my lips one last time as I slowly lift it toward my mouth, feeling my chest flutter even as warmth spreads through my thighs and stomach. I pray that He can’t see he now, and it’s not because of the physical degradation.

“For the Emperor.” The words are murmured, His name still on my tongue as I close my eyes, lean forward, and take the alien into my mouth.

Nothing I’ve ever done has prepared me for just how big it feels. My mouth slides along that thick, dark bulb for what feels like an eternity, my jaw stretched wide to take its girth. By the time the last of the head slips through my lips, I’m sure it must be touching my throat. Yet somehow, as my tongue rises, unbidden, it only swirls around the very tip.

I open wide and pull off, falling back into a comforting rhythm with my hand. I glance over the head as I do so, trying to work out how far into my mouth it went. It’s so strange. Somehow, despite its size, it managed to feel even bigger. I lean in and take it again.

This time it’s a little easier, though no less massive, and I quickly find I can’t go further. I let it slip back out, quietly sickened by my frustration at the fact, and resume stroking. It’s not an unpleasant experience. His flesh is every bit as smooth as it looks, firm yet yielding, cool but not pallid. Definitely not dry, but not quite silky, either.

Perhaps that’s part of the problem? I hesitate for a moment, glance up. He’s staring down at me, his sharp features still wearing that expression of growing excitement, and my cheeks instantly redden, aflame with heat as I immediately look back down. I roll spit in my mouth, then carefully reach out with my tongue. It’s the most cautious of licks as I trace it over the bell curve of his tip, but it’s oddly satisfying to see the tiniest of tremors rush like lightning up his body.

The pace builds as I alternate between lathering my tongue across the dark flesh of his tip, and loading it up with more spit. Little shocks continue to race through the aeldar’s body and I realise that I’m enjoying controlling him, even in so minor and so tawdry a way.

The thought startles me. That’s how they look at it. Power. Submission. Am I... am I starting to think like them?

_ Emperor, preserve me _ .

I close my eyes, shake my head to clear it and then, gently pursing my lips to suck at his bulb, draw its length back into my mouth. This time it’s far easier, perhaps because of the extra lubrication, and I’m able to take a little more of it before I suddenly feel something at the back of my throat and gag, hard. I can’t help but pull away, gasping, a line of spit trailing from his shaft as I try to suppress a fit of choking coughs.

_ So much for control _ .

I scowl at the thought, pushing it out of my mind. I’m trying to make the best I can of a bad situation. That’s all.

He’s amused as I catch his eyes, that awful smile back on his face. “Such enthusiasm, angel. If you w-”

“Fucking shut up.” It’s more a gasp than a retort, each word a painful ache in my chest, as I force myself back onto him. This time, I run my tongue around the entirety of the head as I work downward. His body stiffens and twitches, a hiss escaping his throat, and I’m disgusted to realise that the moment fills me with pride.

I find myself quickly settling into a rhythm, bobbing my head back and forth as my tongue rolls around him. I’m starting to get the hang of sucking, too, occasionally letting him slip almost completely out so that I can better concentrate the pressure.  _ I’m not really enjoying this _ , I try to reassure myself as I plant a single kiss on the side of his ivory shaft. I’m only so enthusiastic because I want him to finish as soon as possible.

But even if I were enjoying myself - not that I am - would that be such an awful thing? I tilt my head, taking him into my cheek. Why would it be so wrong to enjoy this? It doesn’t change  _ what _ I’m doing. It won’t change the reason  _ why _ . I’ve risked my body in defence of all those other women who do this, why should they have the right to do it for pleasure and not me?

I’ve  _ earned _ this.

A ball of emotion rises within me, raw and directionless, a knot of shock, shame… and righteous anger.

_ I can’t take that thought back _ , a voice whispers.

_ I shouldn’t have to _ , replies another.

I’m distracted from my discord by something in my mouth. It takes me a moment to focus, to taste the liquid which has begun trickling into my cheek. I shift my neck, raising my tongue to slather it in his gift. It’s as cool as his skin, surprisingly thin. Where it touches it leaves a strange flavour, almost like mint and seltzer, and a very pleasant, prickling sensation. It’s just a shame that there seems to be so little of it.

I can’t help but moan, and it’s only now that I realise how hard I’ve been pumping my hand up and down his length. It’s with painful reluctance that I start to pull off, my lips drawn far beyond my teeth, before there’s an audible  _ pop _ and we separate. I stare for a few moments more before finally letting go, reaching forward to plant a single, wet kiss atop it.

“You’re not done yet.”

The words snap me out of my daze, and I look at him. His face has just the faintest sheen of sweat, tinted scarlet in the soft, reflected light of the room. In this moment I want nothing more than to dive straight back onto it, every part of my mouth tingling as though it had come to life. My entire body is yearning, crying for the touch of his flesh, but though I continue my hand’s caress, I force myself to hold off.

“Once. That was the agreement.”

“And you haven’t finished yet.”

“You just…”

“An appetiser.” I can hear it in his voice, the pent-up frustration, the faintest note of fear that I’m going to leave him here. I glance back down, realising that it’s still continuing to drool the colourless oil. A single flick of my tongue is rewarded with a delightfully sharp sensation, and a thrill of pride as he fails to suppress a shiver of his own.

“No.” I withdraw all but a single finger, leaving it to trace the underside. “I agreed to use my mouth until you squirted, once. You’ve squirted. I’ve fulfilled our agreement and we’re done here.” As I finish the last word, I begin to stroke faster, harder, holding eye contact.

His voice is a snarl as his composure disintegrates, barely checked. “Don’t play games with me, human. I could have you punished for this.”

“But we both know you won’t.” I smile, not sure where the knowledge is coming from. Is it something in this liquid, perhaps? Has he accidentally shared more than just his body? A thought of wicked torment crosses my mind. “Our business is done. Unless… this isn’t merely business for you. Unless you want more.”

As I throw his words back at him, I find myself terrified he’s going to refuse. He wants to, I can tell. I can taste it in his sweat, his stink, his seed. But he can’t. His lips pull back into a snarl, revealing those cruel, perfect teeth. “Yes. I want this.”

“You only had to ask.” I open wide, and devour him.

My whole mouth comes alive, the contact intensified a thousand-fold by the liquid. Every single touch of flesh is a lightning-bolt of pleasure, and I find myself lolling and rolling as I rock my head back and forth, every cell in my mouth craving his touch. He’s starting to shift and stiffen in his chair, his murmuring in that ancient, musical language quickly decaying into a constant nonverbal growl. I’m losing myself to instinct, my world shrinking to this moment, to this need, and I do not care.

I feel something close on my neck as his hips start to thrust, his cock poking into my throat. I gag and choke again, thrown off my rhythm, and open my eyes to discover his unarmoured hand wrapped around the back of my head. I raise my own and slap at it, hard, baring my teeth as I bring them down onto his flesh in warning. I’m rewarded with a cry of pain and the loosening of his grip, his hand falling away. I continue to hold him between my teeth for a few moments, before closing my eyes and resuming the motion, working more slowly in punishment. He’s continuing to trickle the thin liquid into my mouth, and I run it over my lips the next time I pull back, enjoying the sensation of swelling.

Somewhere along the line, his rejected hand finds my nipple. He tweaks at it with furious desperation, rolling it between his fingers and occasionally pinching,  _ hard _ . At any other time the pain would be awful, but in this moment it’s just another sensation, devoid of meaning, and I moan at the power of it. My other hand is at my sex, fingers teasing through the thin fabric of my outfit. Though a distant part of my mind continues to scream to respect myself, keeping those fingers above the fabric is as much control as it can exert.

His thrusting quickens, his animalistic braying now little more than ragged howling as my shoulder and nipple are crushed in his grip. His strength is inhuman, pushed even further beyond normal by his need, and I can feel his shaft flexing in my mouth, muscles convulsing and contracting in mighty sequence. I close my eyes, feeling my thoughts merge with his, the single word screamed across two minds which, for an instant, are one.

_ Come _ .

A torrent erupts in my mouth, ice-cold shards of passion bursting across my tongue. It’s a river of what could be ground glass, frozen and delicious. A thousand flavours of pleasure leaving me blind and insensate, what’s left of my vision swimming in colour. I gulp, feeling my insides freeze on contact as his seed courses through me, spreading through my belly and limbs until there’s nothing left but ice and the sopping heat between my thighs.

He’s still going. His sin pours into me, unceasing, faster than I can swallow, more than I could have feared or hoped possible. I try to lean forward, to let him pour himself directly into my throat, but there’s just too much and I cry out in despair as my overfilled cheeks betray me and a streak of his precious love spills back out, running down my breasts.

Gradually, the deluge abates. Though he continues to dribble down my chin and chest, I’m able to suck in my cheeks and keep drinking, desperate not to waste any more of his wondrous essence. The taste is beyond anything I’ve ever known, and even now my vision is still almost white, only the desperate need to feel its cold weight in my belly, pumping through my veins, preventing me from keeping it on my tongue forever.

The world returns. Bit by bit, I start to see my surroundings, to feel the rough stone against my knees, to hear the gasping of my lover and smell the stench of our blasphemy. Feeling returns to my fingers and toes, spreading back through my limbs, and I become aware of the dull ache of a nipple, a shoulder. I raise a finger and wipe my chin, allowing his fast-softening shaft to slip free from my mouth, and it lands back on his throne with an audible, satisfying thwack.

I suck the last of him from my finger, resting the other hand on my belly. Even through the material of my outfit, the skin there is as cold as his now, wave after wave of frozen pleasure still pulsing forth from the orb of ice in my guts. He’s leaning back in his chair, still gasping for air, one hand continuing to squeeze my breast as I rise, the other falling to the back of my waist and pulling me closer.

I stare down at him, our gaze locked in silence. I don’t know how many moments pass by like that, until finally, I extend a hand, cupping his chin. He tilts his head, kisses my wrist, and speaks, the accompanying squeeze of my nipple almost tender.

“Not bad, human. Though we’re going to have to find some decoration for these.”

I say nothing, making him wait. He continues to paw at my breast for the first few moments, the fingers there gradually settling into a slow massage. My hand moves beneath his jaw and I push his head back, hard, leaning in close enough to kiss him as I speak.

“Remember this moment and thank the Emperor for it the next time you have thoughts of misbehaviour.”

I let go of him, relishing in the new, frozen power of my body as I walk from the room.


	4. Day 86

Commorragh basks in eternal half-light, an endless sprawl of twisting obsidian cast in the cold glow of a half-dozen stolen, dying stars. A thin rain of greasy water condensate patters against the other side of the window as I stare out over the city, lho-stick in hand. Behind me, through its reflection in the glass, I can just make out my timekeeper, the soft orange shine of its alien rune letting me know that it’s going to be dawn soon.

At least it would be, if there _were_ such a thing as dawn here.

I take one last draw from the lho-stick before stubbing it out, leaving its embers on a silver platter for one of the serfs to deal with, and turn back to my bed. I lie on my back atop the covers, enjoying the bite of the cool air against my body. When I was first brought here, I couldn’t stand the constant cold and would retreat beneath my blankets at every opportunity. Now, it’s simply invigorating.

I sigh as I glance over at the time rune again, half-tempted to cast it away. Day and night are abstracts here, defined by the individual’s activities rather than defining them. I could choose to sleep and wake at any time I wanted. Instead, I force myself to stick to a normal day length, to keep one link with my the rest of my own species.

Or try, anyway.

Another sleepless night.

Guilt, leaden and raw, settles in my stomach. The reason I haven’t been sleeping for the last three days is because after that evening’s sermon, amidst the shit and slime of the slave pens, one of them came to me. A dock serf, or so he claimed. He told me I was too kind and pure to be trapped here, that he could help me escape. That he’d done it a half dozen times before, and if I could just get to him, he could stow me away with a corsair merchant, give me a chance to get back to the Imperium.

“Before this city poisons you, lady” were his words.

I couldn’t bear to tell him that I was already drinking it willingly.

My hands fold across my stomach as I stare at the ceiling. I’m so tired of tossing and turning. My eyes are heavy, limbs sore even as my mind continues to race. It’s been over a month now since the most recent of my ‘rewards’ to the archon for his good behaviour, and not one day has gone by without reliving it in my head. When I first got back to the privacy of these chambers, I showered for an hour and cried every moment of it. I turned the faucet up as hot as I could stand, then turned it up some more. My skin felt like it was burning, but no matter how much the water scalded, the heat couldn’t reach the ice in my veins or that cold, crystallised orb in my stomach.

I had kidney stones once, as an initiate, and the orb was almost as bad. Days of unceasing and agonising cramps, its sharp weight slowly working out of me like a thousand razor-clad gears churning a path through my guts. It took a final few, miserable hours on the toilet to force the last of him out. Even that didn’t completely get rid of the chill.

And it didn’t get rid of the want.

Emperor help me, the _want_.

Even during the worst of it, curled up and clutching my belly in agony as I cursed the name of that bastard with every word I’d learned of his language, all I could think about was how much I wanted to be back on my knees in front of him. To kiss his perfect skin, to caress his perfect body, to taste his perfect, perfect seed. In the moments after the last of him was out, the pain not yet faded from my abdomen, I was already desperate to replace it, deciding that another week of torment was worth those few hours of bliss.

The excuses are already rolling around in my mind. At times, it feels almost like there are two of us in here. I can hear one voice now, furious and unashamed. Her words, my mouth, as I whisper angrily into the darkness of the room.

“Why should I feel guilty that I didn’t hate it? How I feel doesn’t change what I did, why should enjoying it make it worse? I didn’t choose to do it because I enjoyed it, I enjoyed it because I chose to do it.”

The ice in my veins courses with power. “I chose duty over dignity, and so what? Suffering for its own sake is pride, purity before action is vanity. Hating it would have been making it about myself and my ego instead of the faithful. Enjoying it was selfless.”

Another voice rises in response, full of bitter humour. A _selfless_ act?

“Delusional.” This whispering is almost jovial in its mockery. “You chose this, you’re a sinner now. Excuse it however you want, but you made your choice, you enjoyed it and you can’t take it back. It’s only going to get easier to keep walking the path from here.”

I can feel the tinge of heat in my fingers, around my face, as the second voice speaks. It’s a strange sensation, almost feverish, to be caught between the two temperatures, and I realise that despite the cold air, I’m sweating. My head swims, my body shivers, and I reach over and shut off the time rune. The two voices continue to wrestle through my head as I feel myself finally sinking into sleep.

_You’re going to keep making excuses to do it_.

_Why should I need an excuse_?

* * * * *

My eyes flicker open.

Was I out for long? The weak glow drifting through the window is no clue. The dream I was having is already nothing but oil slick and echoes, impossible to grasp yet leaving me feeling stained. The details are already lost, but I’m sure I could make a guess.

A little water splashed on my face helps wake me up. I stare into the mirror as I brush my teeth, glad there’s so little ambient light. It still doesn’t hide the dark rings around my eyes, or the rash which has begun to spread across a cheek - across my devotional tattoo.

Even my body has changed. Deprived of regular drill, the muscles in my torso and arms are already fading, and I think I’ve lost a little weight. Perhaps it’s the lack of sunlight, or any light of substance, but I could swear my skin is getting paler, too.

Something glints as I stare and I sigh, raising a hand to a nipple. The new silver piercing there shifts as I move, catching another fleck of light. I trace a finger around it, flesh stiffening as I massage. The pain of the first few days has faded and now it’s simply intense, each stroke a thrill of forbidden pleasure. Just another mark of how tainted I’ve become.

‘Decoration’, he called it. At least he let me choose the design. A pair of fleur de lys to match the one on my cheek, a proud symbol of devotion to the Emperor. I can’t help but smile. I wonder what the sister superior would think if she could see it now? Her constant scowl, her endless shrieking that suffering brought us closer to the Emperor. I pinch harder, gasping at the flood of sensation.

_You shouldn’t have flogged me so much if you didn’t want me to enjoy this_.

Once I’ve showered and dressed, I finally flick the time rune back on. I still don’t understand it fully, but I know enough to see that it’s still morning, if only just. The silver tray has been cleared of the lho-sticks and my dress has been laid out, and I play with the edges of the fabric while waiting for makeup to set.

It must have been made in mockery, an oversexualised caricature of Sororita armour, but the truth is that I’ve grown to like it. In the absence of the real thing, it’s a reminder of who I am, and I’ve chosen to embrace it for that. Well, that and because it helps to mark me out, of course. There’s not a serf in the Kabal or an archon beyond who wouldn’t know it on sight by now. In fact it’s become such a part of me that, with a little hair dye, I’d wager that most of them wouldn’t recognise me without it. Or so I hope.

I’m going to test it after I’m done with today’s courtly charades. I need to gather supplies for tomorrow’s sermon, but while I’m going to my usual merchants in the human market, tonight I’m going in disguise. Let’s see if I have a chance to get to that dock serf after all.

* * * * *

It seems to have gone well so far. Swathed in rags, head covered, I’m just another slave running errands for her master, blending in amidst the poverty of the black streets. Humans are beneath contempt here, invisible to the Aeldar nobility, and so long as I keep my head down and don’t draw attention to myself, I should continue to go unnoticed. I’ve already gathered most of what I need for the sermon, all that’s left is the incense. It’s the most dangerous part, since the sole trader selling it here keeps his store at the far end of the market, where it’s a little darker, poorer, more lawless, where there are a few more lost and desperate souls to prey on with his narcotic wares.

In my dress I’d be untouchable. Even the gutter scum here would be afraid to lay a finger on me for fear of provoking my archon’s wrath, but tonight I’m a little more cautious as I make my way toward the store, hugging the shadows around the stores at the edge of the market. The crowd, sparser here, seem to ignore me, wrapped up in their own-

My heart stops as I overhear it.

_My name_ . _Then his_.

The voice comes from behind a closed stall, speaking that ancient, musical language of the Aeldar. I duck my head, immediately kneeling to sift through a pile of ruined goods by my feet, head bowed to cover my face. A thin veil of fabric covers the entrance to the alley where they’re meeting, and I can barely make out the figures within.

Two archons and a quartet of incubi guards. I’m struggling to learn the intricacies of their language with my tutor. The words and symbols are easy enough, but far too much of the nuance is done with body movements. Perhaps that’s worked to my advantage here. Though they’ve gathered where their bodies can’t be seen clearly, amidst the humans and low gothic of the market, they don’t seem to care to keep their voices down.

“...know he’s gone soft. That new slave of his has taken him slave in turn. I tell you he’s gotten weak, the whole city knows it. It’s only a matter of time before someone slips him the knife, why shouldn’t we be the ones to do it and claim his riches?”

“Because it’s a trick, you fool.” The second voice is calmer, softer - female, I realise with a start. “You really think after all this time he’d just take leave of his sense like that? For a human, of all things?”

“He has taken leave.” The first voice is hissing, furious. “I have an agent in his guard, she informs me he hasn’t bedded anyone in two months except that mon’keigh slut. I don’t care if he wants to fuck his pets, but to care for one? That’s disgusting. He hasn’t murdered anyone since she arrived, hasn’t betrayed a deal for profit. He’s stopped torturing his slaves, he thanks them for their work instead, for Khaine’s sake! Even for him, this sudden compassion is beyond scheming, beyond common decency. I’m telling you, we’ll never get another chance like this, we need to do it before he comes back to his senses.”

“If you think that the two of us should go after him just because he’s decided to explore some new depravity-”

“Not just the two of us. The Bladed Lotus, the Dark Mirror, the Slaughtered Heart, two score more and more still each day. With your Obsidian Rose, half the city would be with us!”

“Then ask me again once you have the other half.”

“You’ll regret this. If you won’t join us, we’ll remember it.”

“The dead remember nothing. My answer is no, Tenebrax, and I’m leaving before the stink of this revolting market makes me vomit.”

The two storm off in opposite directions, and I keep my head down until they’ve gone.

My mind races as I stare at the ground. It would be so easy to just let it happen, the perfect cover of confusion. Let them carry out whatever plot it is they have, and then make for the docks in the chaos. They wouldn’t care about one running slave, would they? I could have my chance at freedom.

A twinge of guilt, of concern, flares at the back of my mind. He’ll be fine, I tell myself, he’s faced enough threats before, there’s no reason why this one should work. And even if it does, I’ve spent the better part of the last decade and a half killing xenos. What’s one more to me, really?

I sigh. I know exactly what it is.

Perhaps I’m reading into it with more hope than belief, but he _has_ gotten softer. He lets me preach to the humans here, he’s stuck to the terms of our agreement, and so far as I can tell he’s sincere about continuing to do so for the immediate future. Am I really going to let humanity prove we’re less trustworthy than the Aeldar?

_You’re making excuses because you want him_.

But, what if I really am having an effect? What if I really am making a difference? He had a reputation for the worst cruelties and sadisms before I arrived here. Even if he’s changing for the basest of reasons, isn’t what matters that he’s changing?

_You’re making excuses because you want him_.

What about the people here? All of those souls, stranded so far from the Emperor’s light? How can I just abandon them, leave them trapped in this awful, soul-sucking darkness. What right do I have to give up on them? How can I claim to be a true servant of the Emperor and a defender of humanity when I’d condemn them just to save my own skin?

_You’re making excuses because you want him_.

I brush the dust away from the hem of my rags, tears of impotent rage welling in my eyes, and head for the incense trader. Perhaps, just this once, I’ll see if I can find something else there, to help clear my head.


	5. Day 99

The figure struggles desperately against the jade-armoured gauntlets of the incubi, and I’m surprised at my own calm. He’s bruised and broken, blood oozing from the half dozen spots where splintered bones have rent skin, drooling dark red spittle down his chin and chest. I should feel something stronger at the sight. Disgust, perhaps, at the state of his body, or even vindication at the fall of another foe of the Emperor. And yet, staring at his shattered form, I am simply…

_Amused_.

The archon to my left leans forward, the hand I have draped across his shoulders carried forth as I lounge on the throne’s armrest. I offer a gentle pat of my fingers, knowing that he’ll be reassured by my touch through the thin mesh of his robes, as I smile at our guest.

“You know why you’re here.”

The archon’s words are devoid of their usual mockery, the normal soft smirk of his features replaced with tightly-controlled hatred. The twist of his calm, patrician face into something so savage is breathtaking, and I can practically feel the emotion cascading from him, ice-cold and fierce like a frozen shardwine. Perhaps it’s merely the proximity, but it feels perversely intimate to be this close to such murderous passion. His rage pours, frozen and black, and I drink deeply from it to be invigorated in turn.

The figure raises his head, croaking words through cracked lips. “There has been some mistake, I have done nothing wrong!”

“A mistake?” The archon’s dark lips pull back in a sneer. “You would dare to accuse me of error?”

“No, lord!” The aeldar on the ground is struggling to form words through the remnants of his teeth. “You have been… misinformed, deceived!”

“The human says that she heard you conspiring in the markets. Do you deny it?”

“I do!” The other is panicking now as he finally meets my gaze. “She is manipulating you, my lord! My kabal and I have been nought but faithful and loyal to you!”

I turn to the archon, leaning low to give him a glimpse of my cleavage. My voice is soft, though still loud enough to carry across the room. “You see? Even now, his pleas are barbed with lies. Begging for mercy with one word, and mocking you for a weak-minded fool with the next.”

I pull back, smiling at the prisoner again, as the archon speaks. “You dare to insult me with your lies, even on your knees?”

“I offer the truth, my lord! The whole city can see she is manipulating you! I am your servant, I would never raise a hand to you, but I cannot bear to see you fall under her sway, and the sway of her Emperor!”

“As close as he will come to an admission.” I stare into the other’s eyes, enjoying the fear haunting them. “This one wears two faces without shame. Perhaps he shouldn’t be permitted one at all?”

Cruel excitement flushes through the archon’s body, its spiteful runoff sending a thrill down my spine. He raises a lazy gauntlet to one of the incubi. “Skin his face. Then we’ll see if he can summon his honesty.”

“Please, no! I beg of you!” The figure thrashes in desperate rage against the incubus’ grip, the attempt almost comical in his weakened state. The incubi doesn’t even break stride, calmly pulling a knife from his waistband and beginning to cut into the struggling captive’s cheek. I let it continue for the first few moments, revelling in the screaming, before I stand and raise a hand of my own.

“Stop.”

The incubus stares at me for a moment, his eyes invisible behind the helmet. I can’t tell whether they flicker away from me for approval or not, but after a moment, his blade slides back from the flesh, wiped absently on the ragged remnants of our victim’s nightclothes before being returned to his pocket. I lean in, cupping the prisoner’s chin in my hand, before tilting his face up to stare at me.

“Listen to yourself.” My face is close to his, my words quiet, just barely enough to carry to the whole chamber. “Pleading for mercy. Howling in pain. Is this truly aeldari superiority?” I let the words sink in, a single pointed fingernail digging into the flesh beneath his chin.

He’s sweating, now. Fear, pain, shame. I can taste it in the air, bleeding misery, as I turn to the side, gesturing behind me with a free hand. “Look at them. Those who stand behind do so unharmed, thanks to the Emperor. They have survived thanks to his protection, and his mercy. That is why your scheming has failed.”

He can’t reply, simply gasping for air, though my words seem to have stung him enough that he’s trying to control the agony of his wounds. I drop to my knees before him, staring into his eyes, feeling my frozen veins quicken. “The superiority of the Emperor is here for all to see. You are beaten. I offer you one chance for redemption. Accept his infinite mercy, in front of these witnesses. Pledge your soul to the Emperor!”

The captive stares at me, unwilling to believe. I can feel him trying to read my emotions, trying to decide whether to hope. He wants to live, I can tell. Despite all these creatures’ haughty sneering, they want to survive as much as any other.

In that regard they’re as weak and predictable as they claim we are.

Finally, he nods, the light fading in his eyes. The single word is almost spat. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I pledge my soul to the Emperor.”

I smile at him for a moment, then lean in and place a gentle kiss on his lips. The room fills with emotions, a swirl of shock, of disgust - and more than a little jealousy. I can feel my archon’s own green fury rising, and I pull back, licking at the drops of the captive’s blood as I stand and turn to the incubus.

“Cut off his face and prepare a pyre. The flames will purify his soul as we send him to the Emperor.”

This time, the incubi don’t even look for approval before obeying, the flensing knife plunged back into his flesh without hesitation. The captive doesn’t scream or fight, and I settle my arm once again around the archon’s shoulders as I return to sit at his side.

After it’s done, the ruined form of the prisoner dragged from the chamber, those gathered to observe hesitate before they begin to disperse. I choose my moment well, waiting until he’s almost at the door, before calling out.

“Archon Tenebrax!”

He stiffens at my words, body rigid as he turns back to face me. Around him, his fellows quicken their pace, and I hold out a hand to receive a glass of wine, waiting for the room to empty just a little further before I address him again.

“You and your kabal have always been loyal to us, have you not? You may have the honour of igniting the pyre this evening.” I sip my wine, enjoying the richness as I stare into his eyes.

He can barely hold my gaze, knowing that I know even as he considers the prospect of burning a friend alive. “Thank you, my lady.” The slightest pause, before he forces a smile, bowing down ever so slightly. “For the Emperor.”

“For the Emperor.” I reply.

I wait until the chamber has emptied, the guards dismissed, before I speak again. The archon’s smirk has returned, though now it feels like there’s a respect rather than mockery behind it. “You let him go?”

“He’s our creature now. And he’ll do whatever I ask to prove his rediscovered loyalty.”

He shifts on his throne, relaxed. “I underestimated you, human.”

I return his smile, settling down onto his lap. “As did they. It’s a mistake they won’t make again.” I reach a hand out, caressing his hair and the first purity seal. Has it really only been three months since I put that there? “But for now, we’re safe. They won’t risk striking again so soon, and until then, they’ll praise the Emperor’s name.”

“And what about me?” Even through his armour, I can feel him stiffening in anticipation. “Have I earned my reward tomorrow, through my actions in His name?”

I stare at him for a few moments, my own expression neutral.

He needs it. I can tell. There’s an old saying back on Terra - that everything is about sex, except sex, and that’s about power. Somewhere along the line, that came true for me. As I look into those dark, glassy eyes, I accept it.

“No. _I_ have.”

* * * * *

I run a hand across my armour as I wait, caressing the war plate like an old friend. I’m glad it’s been brought here, to stand vigil over my chambers. How many years has it been since I first put this on? How many battlefields have we seen together? How many times has its divine casing saved me from the predations of xenos, heretics and worse?

A web of scars, each one a bittersweet memory as my fingers brush across them. Here, two deep cracks where a pair of bolt shells bounced off my shoulder as I charged a heretic gunline. Here, fresh material over the thigh plate where plasma burned almost through to my skin during an ambush. Here, across the breastplate, a deep scar from an aeldar blade, the one from his thrashings which bit deepest as I choked the life from him in the mud of the raid which brought my sisters and I to this place.

Just below the scar, I stroke the wax of the first purity seal I ever made, on the day I put the armour on for the first time. A simple thing, dedicating myself to the Emperor.

_I give myself unto you_.

_I pledge you my body_.

_I pledge you my soul_.

Tears run silently from my eyes as I smile at the sound of the door sliding open, knowing I’ll never wear it again.

I turn to him as he walks in, the bottles of wine I ordered in one hand. It’s the first time I’ve seen him out of his own armour, draped as he now is in dark silken robes which shimmer and fade as he catches the shadows, offering the faintest hints of what lies beneath. The flesh of his exposed abdomen and one side of his chest is even whiter than usual by comparison, and I can feel my heart beating faster as I take it in.

It’s not just the shadowy beast between his legs or his cruelly aristocratic face which puts imperial craftsmanship to shame, then. Each segment of his torso is its own masterwork of art, ivory flesh pulled taut over rippling muscle and sculpted with impossible prominence and detail. The finest thousand human artisans could spend a lifetime with the purest white marble, and come nowhere close to this. My fingers twitch reflexively, desperate to run down that chest, even as my tongue rolls in my mouth, imagining itself around the jet flesh of his exposed nipple.

“Come, drink with me.” The archon holds out the first of the bottles toward me, popping away its stopper with a single, lazy thumb even as he tosses the second onto the bedcovers. I meet his eyes, stepping toward him and pulling it out of his hand.

“Put your hand on my waist and wait your turn.” Our eyes meet, the clash of two chill, night winds, as I raise the bottle to my mouth. After a moment’s pause, he obediently moves his hand, and I smile, enjoying the tenderness of his grip.

“Such a dutiful servant you make, to the Emperor.” As I drink, the lightest of touches is enough to tease the fabric away from his other shoulder, revealing his upper body in full. His shoulders are broader than I would have expected from someone so lithe, though the proportions are still more human than his armour would suggest.

I take my time as I trace a finger back down, delighted to discover that his musculature feels just as I’d hoped. As cold and as firm as stone, the flesh just soft enough that I can press down to feel the hard muscle beneath. I stroke across the breadth of his breasts, amazed at the smoothness, before placing the flat of my hand between them and running it down his stomach. I’m reminded of bolt shells, stacked in a magazine, and smile as my palm finally reaches his waistband. I return my eyes to his, see the pleading which he’s failing to hide in them, and continue running my nails down the front of the dream-silken sheet at his waist.

“Are you thirsty?” The words are murmured through lips red and slick with wine. I raise the bottle to my mouth again, tipping it back just far enough to sip at its contents as the ends of my fingers slip beneath his loincloth, just far enough to stroke at the flesh there.

It’s a joy to see the reaction. Unarmoured, I can see the reaction it has immediately, the muscles in his torso tightening one after another almost like a zip as the sensation rushes up his spine. Need rolls away from him in waves as he replies, his voice hoarse. “Yes.”

I let my fingers settle into the lightest of grips around the dark head of his shaft, slowly squeezing and releasing as my hand moves up and down. I press the bottle against his stomach, delighting as his flesh betrays him and reveals that he feels its cold. “You seem dreadfully tense, Asdrubael. Surely I don’t frighten you?”

He doesn’t reply at first, trying to compose himself again, to reassert some control over his body. Despite my tormenting, I’m impressed by the way he manages to do so, stiffening each pair of muscles into compliance in turn. I permit him to do so, waiting until his breasts have stilled and the tremors in his spine have almost ceased before I cup my hand tighter, drawing my palm against the bulb and rubbing it across the sensitive skin.

I don’t flinch, my own, cool smile calm and unchanged as his newfound calm is shattered by the sudden stimulation. It wouldn’t matter even if he had continued to master himself, his lust laid bare by the swelling in my hand, but I relish the sight all the more for his efforts, enjoying the power I hold over him.

Even if I hadn’t been tainted by this place, I’m sure I’d be able to feel the delightful agony rolling off him, and I can’t help but lean in closer for a taste. I pull the bottle back and my tongue lashes out, the wine in my mouth mixing with the sweat and condensation on his abdomen to leave a dark, red scar even as I savour the taste of his weakness.

“Perhaps you need a little of this, to settle your nerves?” I press the bottle into his hand, accompanying it with a longer, firmer squeeze of his head. He tries to cover his discomfort by tipping the bottle right back, swallowing whole mouthfuls at once, and I’m tempted to try and make him spill it. I glance back at the mark I left on his chest, realising it would be swept up in the staining. No. He doesn’t get rid of it that easily.

I continue to flex my fingers with growing frequency, relishing the feeling of him hardening in my hand once more. The silk has begun to lift away from his legs now, unable to conceal his growing desire, and I make my decision as I gently tug the bottle down, righting it before pulling it away from him.

“Take that off and sit on the edge of the bed.”

I let go of him and turn away as he leans in for a kiss, barely suppressing a grin at my own petulance. I had been tempted to simply lead him over by his shaft, but letting go was worth it for that moment of sudden, hot embarrassment. I pour what’s left of the wine into a pair of emerald glasses on a platter at the side of the bed, the liquid turned instantly black through the green of the crystal. by the time I turn back the archon has obeyed, a ribbon of midnight silk tracing the path between my armour and the bed as he leans backward, supporting himself with outstretched hands.

I hold his wine just far enough forward that he has to sit up again to take it, enjoying the scowl on his face. Freed, my hand drops to stroke the naked majesty of his erection, and I stare at it as I begin to stroke once more. It’s even more impressive in the absence of his clothing, the narrowness of his hips on display, and I can’t help but chew my lower lip as I realise how much saliva the wine has drawn into my mouth.

I kneel, continuing to caress down his shaft and across his head as I loosen my dress once again and allow my breasts to spill free. I glance up at the archon, meeting his eyes as I pump faster with my hand.

“Say the words.”

He stares back, those beautiful, midnight eyes glimmering with desire. I won’t do it until he says it, until he submits himself, makes this a truly sacrosanct union. He licks his lips, a smile flickering around their edges as he reaches down and caresses my jawline, pulling me closer to his tip.

“For the Emperor.”

This time, I have a long sip of wine, keeping the liquid in my mouth as I lean forward and take him into my mouth. It’s easier this time, the whole head slipping in without difficulty as I close my eyes and begin to suck. Perhaps it’s because this time I know for certain that I want it, but I find I’m getting into a rhythm much faster, enjoying the thick, heavy weight of him against my jaw and the press of his flesh against the roof of my mouth. I can feel every shift of his hips, every bolt of pleasure which races back along his body, and a pride rises in my chest again. The simple act of moving my head up and down, feeling the quivering of his muscles in my lips and along my jaw, is incredible, and I can’t help but moan from my throat, sucking ever harder, as I try to pull him further in.

I’m disappointed to discover that, despite my enthusiasm, while I can take him there quicker I still can’t go any deeper than last time. I push myself a little further down and gag as I feel him brush against my throat, having to pull off altogether and cover my mouth with my hand to avoid spraying wine everywhere. Still coughing and gasping for air, I look up to see the archon staring down in amusement, raising his wineglass and taking a sip before he speaks.

“Overconfidence, angel?”

I scowl at him, feeling my eyes water. “Mock me again and you’ll be waiting until tomorrow for your reward.”

That shut him up. He nods, his expression still smug, but lapses into silence as I return my mouth to his shaft. I’m slower this time, still trying to take in as much of him as possible, but it's no good. After another two attempts result in the same coughing, my frustration rising, I take another mouthful of wine and go back to my previous rhythm, swirling my tongue harder as I try to coax out his oily preseed.

_There_.

Wet pleasure fills my mouth as he gasps, his length flexing hard in my mouth as it begins to spill into me. I pull back, keeping my lips only around the tip of his head, sucking as hard as I can to coat my insides with the delicious, stimulating liquid. Everywhere it touches feels as though it’s come alive, set aflame with pure, ecstatic sensation. I could do this forever, just sit and suck and let him fill me with this concentrated bliss.

But I have other plans for tonight. Slowly, against every instinct in my body, I swallow one last mouthful of passion from him and pull away, tilting the head to smear its prize across my nipples. The effect is instant, beyond intense. Every ember of dulled pain, every punctured nerve revives in a cascade of sudden feeling, the agony twisted by his bounty into pure delight, bolts of pleasure-lightning rushing directly from my piercings to my brain. My whole body shakes, unable to cope with such overwhelming energy, and I actually throw my head back and scream, simply to let it out.

It takes a few moments to adjust, for that first mad wave of sensation to burn itself out. I’m sweating, needing more, and as I gaze upon his beautiful instrument of love, I realise that I can’t hold back any longer. In a moment, I’m back on my feet, one clumsy hand working at the bottom of my dress even as the other pushes against the archon, trying to pin him to the bed. I can barely form words, my voice a growl as the dress finally slips away and I decide that I can’t waste time removing my stockings.

“Get on your fucking back.”

Part of me is dully aware that I’ve lost control now, that I’m giving up my power over him, but I don’t care. My hands fumble across his chest, forcing him backward as I clumsily climb atop him. I can feel the heat between my legs all the stronger as my sex comes into contact with the cool air, and can’t help but clamp my knees around his hips, trying to contain the energy there. My labia comes to rest against his shaft and suddenly I’m working myself back and forth along it, loving the sensation of his smooth, cold flesh against the heat. Each stroke sense a pulse through my body, like the waves of a mighty ocean crashing through against me, and I can feel myself wettening in turn.

It’s time.

I lift myself away from him, planting my hands to shove him down as much as to lever myself into position. He says nothing, merely panting for air as I press down on his lungs, levering a single hand down between my legs. A moment later, I feel the tip of his shaft rise into place, gently parting me as it settles into position.

For a single, agonising moment, my head clears, the sex-slicked haze sliding away from my thoughts. If I do this, I realise, there’s no going back. Once I let him into my most intimate spot, a part of him is going to be there forever. The moment stretches, time itself forgotten, and I stare down at the archon’s face, suddenly such an alien thing. It’s as though the woman I arrived here as has returned, pleading with me to turn back. Whatever I’ve done so far, whatever I’ve claimed to do for the Emperor - _this_ is the moment where I put myself before Him, and damn myself in the process.

Guilt and shame swirl through me, one last, desperate fire blazing in my heart as it tries to pull me back into the light. I’m about to sacrifice the holy human form for my own pleasure. To lie with a xenos. Whatever it looks like, _it’s not human_. I may as well be fucking an Ork or a Grox as this thing.

I could kill him, I know. He’s naked, alone, unarmed. My armour is _right there_ . I could have the holy bolter in my hand, put a few of its blessed shells through his skull before he could even react. He’d never see it coming. All I have to do is choose - choose to remember my humanity, choose to remember my duty, choose to remember my Emperor, choose to rise now and leave behind his cold, alien body and my own selfish lusts. _Choose_.

A single tear rolls down my cheek as I close my eyes, and fall.

_Oh_.

That’s all I can manage. A single, long ‘oh’ as the breath escapes my lungs, every other thought driven out with it. No guilt, no shame, no duty, no Emperor, just this moment. Just me and this creature this beautiful forbidden act.

He _fills_ me. It’s not just my body which stretches wide, desperate to feel him further inside me. Tattered and ruined by this city and its poison, my soul opens and he pours in, filling something I hadn’t realised was missing. A void that I didn’t know was there - the leftover cavity of my faith, perhaps. Whatever the cause, all I know is that in this moment, for the first time in my life, I am whole.

It’s a strange feeling, being at once so desperately attuned to every nerve in my body, yet almost disconnected, as though I were seeing myself from outside. I can feel my lover, too, the sensations flowing back through his penis and into his brain, his pleasure at the feeling of my body as his tip slips in outstripped only by his sense of triumph, his belief that I’ve finally succumbed to him. I should be angry at that, insulted by his pride, and yet I’m okay with it. I feel like I’m loose, drifting alone in the middle of some warm, lonely ocean, quietly content even as the waves lap over my head and I begin to sink.

I watch us both for a few moments more, amused by my own face as my lips continue form that soft, gasping ‘oh’, by his face as he tries to resist forcing me down faster. As I sink, I’m dissolving, and it’s almost a shock as the sensation melts away and I come back into my own body.

My eyes open.

I glance between my legs, realising I can’t see what’s happening there. Instead, I clamp down, hard, with muscles I didn’t know existed to feel his cool, heavy girth inside me. The contraction pulls at my stomach, and I gasp for air, realising I haven’t breathed in since the first moment of penetration.

_He’s so big_.

_Too big_.

He’s stretching me far beyond capacity, the walls of my vagina parting in pain as his cruel shaft forces its way ever further upward. Yet thanks to the curious, intoxicating pre-seed which drools from his tip, lathering everything in its way, I’m enjoying it. Pleasure and pain have become raw sensation, a feeling of fullness which is simply _good_. I want more of this. I need more of this.

He just keeps going. I don’t know how much of him I’ve taken, unable to even tell how much time has passed. All I know is that so long as I continue to press downward, he continues to rise up. He must have passed my navel by now, must be against my heart. I’m sure that if I looked down I’d see the flesh of my stomach bulging, so deep does he feel, and yet still he keeps pressing upward.

Lightning strikes.

He touches against something, deep inside me, and can’t go any further. It doesn’t matter. My belly practically explodes, agony beyond words twisted into pure energy which courses outward through my entire body. I scream again, the pressure of him against that spot too much to bear, my legs and arms giving out as my fingers and toes curl, my whole body trying to cave in on itself, to do something to control this power. His chest is cool against mine, his stomach muscles rippling in time with my own convulsions as I feel a pair of hands grip my waist, his fingernails sinking into my flesh. The pleasure doesn’t abate. So long as he’s touching that spot, tremors of power crash through me, my body clenching and unclenching in furious need.

Even as he lifts me away, aftershocks continue to pulse. My body shakes, and for a desperate, horrible moment I feel hollow, empty. He’s almost out, just the tip remaining, and I find myself babbling, begging him not to pull out completely, kissing his mouth and neck with clumsy panic. He smirks, his mouth opening to mock me no doubt, and suddenly my need becomes hate, rising like a leviathan from the depths to shatter the still waters above.

Ice-cold rage fills me as the last of the heat leaves my body, muscles hardening and swelling with the strength of a glacier, as I lift myself away. His laughter dies on his lips as my arms straighten and I punch his precious face, hard. He lets out a cry of shock, hands falling away from my waist to try and protect himself, and I hit him again.

“You would dare?” My voice is low, dripping with cold venom. “I _order_ you to fuck me.”

He opens his mouth, panic rising in his eyes, and I raise a fist in preparation. There’s a moment of hesitation, and I clench my vagina again, gripping him in silent command, before I feel him slump, defeated.

“Yes.”

“Yes who?”

I lock his gaze with my own, still sneering. He can’t look away, can’t refuse. His own need is too strong, the unwilling twitch of his body against mine too great. No, it’s more than that, I realise. It’s his need for me, for my affection and approval, and as he licks his lips to reply, something goes out of his eyes.

“Yes, mistress.”

I smile, devoid of warmth as my fist becomes a tender palm, cupped to his cheek. I could almost laugh at the irony, the ancient bull reduced to nervous shaking as his hands gingerly return to my waist. I pat his chest twice in encouragement, and though he won’t disobey again, something of his confidence returns. His hands massage the wounds left by his nails as he pulls me back down and I feel myself spreading before him once again, sighing in pleasure as the feeling of emptiness abates.

“Good boy.” I murmur the words in his own language, and am instantly rewarded with the feeling of his muscular shaft flexing in excitement.

I reach out to pick up the second bottle of wine, pouring it into my glass as I gaze down at the archon. _My_ archon, now. Slowly, I begin to rock my hips back and forth, sipping from my wine as I do so. The motion is cautious, almost lazy as I carefully control the pace to avoid overstimulating myself, and I take a sip of the rich liquid as I plant my other hand on his neck, gently squeezing the sides just enough to remind him not to get any ideas.

After a minute of gently riding, I realise that I can feel _him_ , through the throbbing of his cock inside me. He doesn’t know what to do, how to feel, which in turn is only leaving him even more confused and afraid. I grip his neck just a little tighter as I increase the pace, biting my lip as I relish in the sensation. I finish the glass of wine and toss it aside, slowly leaning back until I’m no longer resting entirely on his pelvis. The soft silk of the sheets caresses the base of my buttocks and the soles of my feet as I bring them forward, planted on either side of his ribcage.

From this position, he can’t fit quite so deeply inside me, and though I’m disappointed to feel the pressure of his tip lift away from that spot of perfection I’m at least less frustrated about not being able to take his entire length. It’s a pleasant, if far less intense sensation as he continues to rock against me, and I allow him to move his hand to one of my legs. My fingers trace my stomach, and this time I’m excited to realise I can feel him from this position, tracing the hard swelling in my belly with my fingers.

I could do this for hours, and when we’re done here, I think I will. But we’re not there yet, and there’s one more thing I want from him first.

“Get on top of me.”

He reacts entirely too quickly, desperate for permission, and I wrap my legs around his waist as his face appears in front of me. For all his obvious strength, he’s far lighter than I would have expected, though the weight of his hard muscles pressing against me is still enough to send shivers of excitement along my spine. I lean forward, placing a light kiss on his lips, and cross my ankles behind his back.

From this angle, he can get every bit as deep as before, and I let out a long moan as his head touches my deepest spot again, each fresh splash of oil dulling away all perception of pain. The feel of his torso brushing against me is exquisite, the stimulation perfectly timed with his motion inside me, and my fingers rush toward my clitoris, playing with myself even as his pelvis presses down against them.

He’s starting to get close now, I can feel it. His thrusts are becoming quicker, shallower, his grip on my body tightening. He’s so light, that it would be easy enough to just throw him off, onto his back, and use my hand to force him into the humiliation of showering in his own seed. The wicked thought is tempting, and I make a note to remember it for the next time he displeases me, but for now, I know what I want, and with my own pleasure building to a climax, decide to let him have it, just this once.

I kiss up the side of his cheek, running my tongue along his jaw to his ear, before whispering the single word.

_Inside_.

His pace doubles in an instant, all sense of elegance lost as he descends into a bestial frenzy. Our mouths meet, tongues flashing past one another as they flit between mouths in a wet mockery of love, and it’s as the first flickers of my own orgasm arrive that I feel the first ring of muscular cock-meat swell, bulging wide as its mighty payload is carried forth.

The first splash of ice touches against the entrance to my womb, and everything goes white.

I don’t know how long I’m screaming. I don’t know how long he’s there, filling me with an avalanche of frozen glass shards, each a firework of delight which bursts as it settles against the inside of my belly. All I can do is cling on to him, feeling his bones begin to groan under the stress of my body as I try to crush him in a cage of ecstatic limbs, feeling the taste of his blood in my mouth as I practically bite his fucking lower lip off, feeling my belly swell with the sudden weight of his wintry seed. Even those first moment of penetration didn’t compare to the sheer fullness of this. I feel like I’ve eaten my weight in ice, and he just keeps pouring more in, as much as my greedy body can take.

My fingers are wet, slick and sticky, and I realise that my nails must have drawn blood from how deeply I’m pressing them into his back. I don’t care. His blood, his saliva, his sweat, his seed. All of them belong to me now.

I cry out in despair as I feel something cool and wet run trickle down my buttocks, realising that I really am too full now. The trickle swells, thicker and heavier, and by the time he stops twitching in me, stops stirring the sharp snow which has packed my womb, it’s begun to pool between my thighs, somehow unpleasant outside of my body.

I barely have enough strength left to raise my head,let alone push him away, but he seems to get the idea all the same. He breaks the kiss with an alien murmur, something soft, almost tender, but which doesn’t quite seem to translate.

It’s hushed, quiet, reverential - the most intimate tone of voice I’ve heard him use. He brushes my cheek with his own as he does so, arms folded behind my head and neck, and slowly begins to rock his hips against me, each thrust tender and accompanied by another kiss.

It’s all I can do to stay awake, so desperate am I to fall asleep beneath the soft comfort of his weight, but I force myself to do so. I can feel him gradually softening inside me, and after a few minutes, feel him wilt out, allowing a brief flow of already-thickening seed to flow out behind it. I press at his flank insistently and he rolls off to one side, allowing me to finally raise my head and look down.

My hand settles on my belly, fingers drumming against it in astonishment. Just how much of his corrupted love did he put into me? I force myself to sit, then stand, alarmed as I discover that the sheer volume of seed pumped into in my gut seems to have actually thrown my balance off. It feels as heavy as a bolt pistol, the weight settled deep inside of me, my stomach actually swollen out by it.

I stagger across the room toward my armour, pulling open the mirror beside it. I stare in astonishment as I take in the size of my belly. I can actually cup the underside of it with my palm, and do so, mesmerised by the sensation. I knew I’d feel him in me afterwards, but…

I lose myself for a few moments, surprised to discover that I quite enjoy the feeling of stroking my new weight. It’s oddly comforting, a sensation of fulfilment flooding through my body, and I can’t help but smile as I rub both of my hands across it. Thank goodness he’s an alien, if a human had put this much into me…

My reverie is broken by his appearance at my side, soaked in my sweat, his hands folding immediately across my stomach as he presses against my back. I tilt my head and we kiss for a few moments, this time far more softly, before he speaks again.

“It’s just past midnight. I’d like to stay.”

A hundred days. As I stare so closely into those midnight irises, I realise that it’s now a hundred days since our agreement. I kiss him once more, relax in his arms.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting your purity seal for the day.”

He shakes his head by way of reply. “It can wait.”

I hesitate, for just a moment. “No. I have a better idea.”

I turn my head the other way, stare at my armour. No, not my armour anymore. The first purity seal stands proudly on its chest, and I slowly reach out to peel it away, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace as I turn around.

“Put your robes back on. You can take them back off when we’re done.”

He kisses me once more before doing as I instruct, slowly tying together the long, silken cloth into a comfortable robe once more. I ignore him for the moment, one hand straying to rub my belly once more as I turn the purity seal over in my fingers. I was so proud when I first put this on. The first moment of what I had thought would be the rest of my life, as a dutiful and eternal servant of the Emperor.

My archon returns, kissing my neck once more, and as he falls to his knees in preparation, I realise that my contract has ended. From today, I’m making my own choices. It’s a strange thrill, at once full of hope and dread, and yet, as I read the first vow for the last time, I gaze down at Asdrubael with power coursing through my frozen veins, beginning to recite the words..

_I give myself unto you_.

_I pledge you my body_.

_I pledge you my soul_.


	6. Epilogue

“You’ll have to have them killed, of course, though use deniable assets. It will serve to keep others in line far better if they’re paranoid and afraid to collaborate.”

“Kill him outright for whispers in private? You were happy to leave the ones who spoke out in public maimed.”

“What they say in public is merely posturing. Denouncement and outrage there is simply playing to their own kabals, but whispers in private? Concealment is proof of intent. Have them killed.” 

I smile at her words. What a _vicious_ little creature the angel on my shoulder has turned out to be.

It must be nearly seven months now since this human first came to Commorragh. In her I saw an amusing diversion, an opportunity to break up the monotony of excess, to experience the delightful shame of noble virtues once more. I expected that she would break by the end, whether because she refused to dirty herself in upholding the deal, or because she wouldn’t be able to cope with doing so.

I hadn’t expected she’d actually see it through to the end, or even considered that she’d reach it with enthusiasm. I certainly hadn’t expected to end up submitting in turn. And not just in the bedroom, though spending every night beneath her, wrists chained to the frame of the bed, certainly has its charms. No, I’ve found that despite centuries of revelling in torment, I find myself wanting to _please_ her. To see her once-permanent scowl twist, even for a few moments, into that cool smile of approval.

I find it strangely refreshing. For so long, all I’ve had to do to draw compliments is simply exist. Every day, I’m beseeched by dozens, sometimes scores of those who lavish me with plaudits in the hopes of winning a moment of attention, approval, affection. The platitudes of an endless cascade of sycophants, each heaping me with enough praise to drown in, each hoping that they’ll outdo the rest and be the one I take notice of.

To be in a position where the roles are reversed is a rare and delicious treat. It’s not for the Emperor, of course - it never was - but to see her smile at my words is enough to kindle some flicker of warmth in my heart. Of course, it helps that with her, I feel like I’ve had to earn it. From the very start, she’s been willing to insult and belittle me, and after so long becoming desensitised to flattery, to receive honest abuse has its own perverse charm.

Which is to say nothing of the bedroom, of course. I neither know nor care to estimate how many concubines I’ve taken over the years - lovers seeking favour, peers seeking to seal agreements, slaves seeking merely to survive. All of them wanting something, each willing to serve my every desire to get it. No matter what debaucheries I’ve demanded, they’ve rushed to fulfil it.

It’s been so refreshing to simply be held down and _used_ by someone who doesn’t care for what I want. I can’t think of anyone else in the galaxy who’d be bold and foolish enough to mix verbal abuse with slapping as they ride me, and yet it’s that very uniqueness which makes her so special to me. It doesn’t hurt that she’s clearly spent so much time practising her hatred of my species.

_You call that an orgasm, you limp-cocked warp fucker?_

_Is this dreary excuse for lovemaking normal for your race? Pathetic. It’s no wonder you’re going extinct._

_Your place is beneath my boot and you will kiss my feet and thank me for it._

_The craftworlder slaves fucked me harder than you, even before I took their spirit stones._

We don’t really have ‘sin’ in the way humans do, but to willingly submit to another is the closest we come. To break that one real taboo sends a chill of forbidden excitement through me.

Perhaps I’ll tire of her eventually. To be shackled, even voluntarily, must start to weigh after long enough. But for now, I’m content in my place. To wear the chains of submission, instead of ambition, is curiously liberating.

Her head rises from the pillow as she sits, hand outstretched to take water. For one so recently in service, she’s adapted quickly to having them herself. Indeed, she’s adapted well to Commorragh in general. Though she still wears the outfit I had made for her, she’s taken to wearing her hair in the drukhari style. Whether that’s because she’s embracing her new role, or simply in mockery, is uncertain.

I rise as well, collecting a cup of wine as I stand and walk toward the window. Before me, the dark city sprawls into the distance, a hundred thousand obsidian knives slicing through the eternal dusk. I raise the glass to my lips and smile, gazing at the newest construction there: the first shrine here ever built to an alien god, her Emperor.Wrought from the finest black iron in the style of her own species, when finished, it will hold a hundred thousand souls, each pledging their soul to His service. A hundred thousand souls, voluntarily given to her - and together, we shall feast. I was right in believing that a soul offered willingly is one far sweeter and richer than even those extracted from the most expertly prepared agonies, and this banquet of the faithful will be the sweetest and richest yet.

She appears at my side, calmly leaning against me as she too stares toward the site of the cathedral. I slowly run my fingers down her spine, delighting in the shiver it provokes, before reaching around her waist and cupping her to me. The feel of her cool skin against mine is both arousing and intimate, and I’m torn between two desires. The first, to wrap her in my arms and use that strange human word, ‘love’; the second, to drop to my knees and fuck her with my tongue.

I’m distracted from my thoughts when her free hand strays back to her belly, the movement almost unconscious. I smirk. Last night, she promised to reveal a new reward when my two-hundredth day of faith occurs. She’s keeping it a secret, but between the growing swell of her gut and this month’s switch away from post-coital wine, I’m certain I can guess.

“Do remember to buy a present for Aemyss before we host her mother this evening, won’t you?” Her voice is silken as she plots. “Something nice. Just enough to make the threat from you clear, but suggest my own honest affection.”

“Of course. A pet, perhaps.”

She nods, her expression cool. “A pet, of course. You pick them so well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Thanks for reading this far.
> 
> This work was originally inspired by the art by JetBlackRaider which you can find linked at the top of chapter one. I, being near-blind and stupid, mistook the comb in an early draft sketch for a purity seal, and everything else took shape around that. She's a really skilled artist with a great style and a penchant for drawing everyone's favourite knife-eared dickheads, and you should absolutely check the rest of her stuff out.
> 
> I've been writing on and off for nearly twenty years now, but this is the first thing I've published. I'm _hopelessly_ devoid of confidence, so if you haven't totally hated this, please consider dropping a comment and letting me know. If you did totally hate it but think you can give me some constructive feedback, that's great too. Either way, hearing from you would really make my day.
> 
> And finally, in no particular order, I'd like to say thanks to Blue, Morbid, LL and Sera for kindly giving their time, encouragement, and feedback to help turn my original drafts into something presentable. I really couldn't have done this without you all.


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